


You First

by starlightandpinot



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: 3 prompts for the Price of one, Drinking, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Prompt Fill, Romance, i just wanted to write something fun and lighthearted and banter-y, kevin is so dumb when hes drunk, mcpriceley tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightandpinot/pseuds/starlightandpinot
Summary: “Oh, come on, McKinley,” Kevin prods him, smiling with his eyes. “If you’re going to break the rules, then you need tobreakthe rules. We’re getting drunk today whether you like it or not.”Connor spits out a laugh. “You’re joking.”"Oh, no,” Kevin says. "I never joke about breaking the rules."
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 20
Kudos: 84





	You First

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this in response to several [Tumblr prompts](https://elderkevinmckinley.tumblr.com/post/620014863760113664/prompt-fills) by combining the below into one fic. That's 3 prompts for the Price of one! 
> 
> \- “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”  
> \- “It’s pitch black and I can still see you blushing.”  
> \- “Please, just shut up so I can kiss you.”

* * *

Kevin and Connor are sitting opposite each other at their tiny kitchen table, wordlessly staring each other down. There is a chipped, gray mug sitting between them, halfway filled with liquor of questionable origin, waiting for someone to take the first sip. The table is covered in cracks and mystery stains and there’s this unidentifiable sticky substance caked to the top that never seems to come off, no matter how hard they scrub. Most likely from a twenty-year-long line of rotating missionaries that has abruptly ended with them. 

It’s their legacy, Kevin thinks, and he’s not particularly sorry for it.

He feels guilty, yes. And perhaps even a little bit sad. But there’s this other part of him, a part of him he’s only recently allowed to surface, that actually feels _thankful_ for all of this. Thankful for Arnold. Thankful for Elder McKinley. Thankful that he doesn’t need to be _Elder Price_ , anymore. Thankful that everyone is done expecting _perfection_ from him. They don’t expect it because he has already let them down. And by _them_ , he means everyone. His parents, the Church… even his fellow Elders, several of whom promptly left only days after agreeing to stay. They blamed Arnold and Kevin for their disgrace on their way out, citing that they will report this blasphemy to the Church the minute they get back.

And, yet, Kevin Price still finds himself feeling pretty damn _good_. He thinks Elder McKinley feels good, too, but is too stubborn to admit it. There’s a light in his eyes, these days, that hadn’t been there before. 

Kevin pushes the mug to Connor’s side of the table. “You first.”

“No way,” Connor makes a face and pushes it back. “You first.”

Kevin scoffs. “Why do _I_ have to go first?”

“Because you lost at rock, paper, scissors,” Connor says, waiting a moment before adding, “And because I said so.”

“I don’t have to listen to you anymore, you know,” Kevin says with a cheeky smile. “Technically, the district is dissolved, and you can’t _lead_ a dissolved district.”

“I can _lead_ whatever I want and right now I’m _leading_ you to take a sip of this drink.” 

And then Connor smiles with those bright blue eyes of his, and Kevin knows he’s lost.

“Fine.” Kevin picks up the drink and stirs it around a little. He doesn’t even know what it is. Not exactly. It’s some sort of Ugandan gin or moonshine or something, but the bottle doesn't have a label on it and so he honestly isn’t sure. He dips his nose into the cup and it wrinkles involuntarily from the smell. 

“I’m supposed to _drink_ this?” He coughs through the question. He hasn’t even taken a sip yet and he’s already choking on it. That doesn’t exactly bode well for him. “Is it even edible?”

“Apparently,” Connor says. “According to Sister Kimbe, anyway.”

Kevin scrunches his face and looks back down at the menacing liquid. It’s now or never, he supposes, and reluctantly brings the edge of the mug to his lips.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

Connor smiles, and it’s positively wicked. “ _Oh_ , yeah.”

He’s never tried alcohol before in his life because, up until very recently, Kevin Price was actually a very good Mormon. He may have had his doubts about some of the scriptures, yes, and maybe he’s broken the law of chastity by masturbating from time to time. He’s indulged in Starbucks coffee and has been known to tell little white lies to his parents every now and again. But _drinking_? _Alcohol_? No way. Uh uh. Kevin Price would _never_.

And, yet, here he is, inches away from breaking yet _another_ one of the rules. 

He decides he should do this like ripping off a particularly stubborn band-aid and so he quickly dips his head back and takes a sip. The liquid makes him choke, burning at his throat all the way down, and he already regrets ever meeting Elder McKinley.

“Well?” Connor asks, his curious blue eyes prying into Kevin’s. “How was it?”

“Disgusting,” Kevin gags as he places the cup back on the table. He makes a dramatic show of pushing it all the way to Connor’s side of the table. “Your turn.” 

He can barely get the words out before choking again.

“Do you feel any different?” Connor asks, crinkling his face as he looks down into the mug. “Happier? Lighter? Anything?”

“I feel…” he thinks on it for a moment, trying to identify the feeling. “Warm.”

“Huh.” Connor looks down at the mug and bites his bottom lip. “Okay,” he nods, “I’m gonna do it.” 

“Now I feel kinda warm _and_ weird at the same time,” Kevin goes on, licking his lips in concentration. “Oh, yeah," he hiccups. “I _definitely_ feel weird.”

Connor leans his head back just like Kevin did, hesitating for a fraction of a second before downing a hasty sip. He nearly spits it out (well, he kind of _does_ spit it out), but ultimately just makes a horrified face as he swallows whatever did manage to make it in. 

“That was…” Connor musters out through a choke, “ _So_ gross.”

“Yeah,” Kevin says, and although the liquid was truly awful — downright disgusting, even — the weird tingling he’s now feeling in his arms and legs kind of makes him want to drink more. “Wanna do another one?”

“ _Another_ one?” Connor coughs into his arm. “Are you crazy?”

Kevin mirrors Connor’s earlier smirk. “Maybe.” He then grabs the cup from Connor’s side of the table and takes another long sip. It tastes just as foul as the first time around, but strangely goes down just a little bit easier. Perhaps the first one had numbed his taste buds. 

“The second one is easier.” Kevin pushes the cup back over to Connor, who looks horrified at the prospect of actually putting that swill back into his mouth. 

“No,” Connor shakes his head, “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, McKinley,” Kevin prods him, smiling with his eyes. “If you’re going to break the rules, then you need to _break_ the rules. We’re getting drunk today whether you like it or not.”

Connor spits out a laugh. “You’re joking.”

"Oh, no,” Kevin says. "I never joke about breaking the rules."

Connor holds Kevin’s gaze as he picks up the mug and takes in another sip. He winces a bit as it makes its way down his throat, but he manages to avoid spitting it out this time. They are making progress.

He pushes the mug back over to Kevin. There are about two shots left in the cup, enough for each of them to feel plenty tipsy for two people who have never even so much as tried alcohol before in their lives.

“Are we really doing this?” Connor asks in disbelief as Kevin takes yet a third sip. He wordlessly pushes the mug back over to Connor’s side, a playful glint in his eyes. 

“Alright, I guess we are,” Connor says, peering down into the cup for the third time. “Last one, it looks like. Cheers.” He tilts the mug in Kevin’s direction before downing the rest of its contents in one shot. He barely winces this time, but does do a click-y thing with his tongue upon swallowing. After a second he looks straight at Kevin and says, “I need water.”

Kevin grabs the bottle of… gin, moonshine... whatever the Hell it is, which is still mostly full, and Connor grabs them two glasses of water. They move their two-person party into the darkened common room and sit back on the sofa.

“Slow down,” Connor softly reprimands, pulling the bottle from Kevin’s lips just as he goes to take another sip. “Remember what Naba said about tolerance.”

Kevin squints his eyes at Connor. His vision has become significantly more blurred than it had been five minutes ago. “What did she say?”

“That we have none.” Connor smirks and places the bottle back on the table. He picks up a glass of water and holds it in front of Kevin. “Drink this instead.”

Kevin pouts through a hiccup, stating that he _doesn’t have to listen to someone who isn’t even the district leader anymore_ , but reluctantly obliges. He’s never been very good at resisting Connor, especially when its late and dark and the moonlight is hitting Connor’s cheek in exactly the right way.

A peaceful silence envelops the room and they move closer together on the couch without exactly realizing it. They always do. But this time they are halfway to drunk and so they move a little bit closer than they normally would. Connor leans into Kevin’s side and rests his head against his shoulder, the top of his light auburn hair brushing up against his chin. 

Kevin's entire body tingles in response, and he’s fairly certain it isn’t from the alcohol. 

“Mmmmm,” Kevin leans down and hums right into Connor’s hair. He knows it’s the alcohol talking, giving him a boost of bravery he doesn’t normally have, but he doesn’t really care. The reddish hairs rubbing against his skin feel so soft that he can’t help himself. He presses his cheek deeper into Connor’s hair, liking the way it feels against his skin. He sits up after a minute and slips an arm around the front of Connor’s chest. “God, your hair is so soft.”

Connor tilts his head back and looks up at Kevin. It’s dark in the living room, but Kevin can see the other man’s blue eyes are wide at attention and his cheeks look rosier than usual. It makes him look even cuter than he normally does, and Kevin’s heart lurches a little in his chest. But Connor is backing away from him, now, gazing at Kevin as though he'd just sprouted a second head. 

Through the darkness of the room, Kevin tries his best to read the emotions in Connor’s eyes. They look surprised and excited and scared all at once, though Kevin honestly isn’t sure why. They’ve done this exact same thing a hundred times before (minus the alcohol and weird hair rubbing thing, of course). They usually don't _talk_ about doing it whenever they do it, is the only thing. They usually just sit there in silence, holding hands or leaning up against each other’s sides or catching pleasant whiffs of each other’s hair, pretending as though it isn’t actually happening, even though it is. Even though it _definitely_ , unmistakably is. 

But now that he feels all warm and weird and tingly from the alcohol, Kevin decides he _does_ want to talk about it. Because if they don’t talk about it, then nothing will ever change between them; they’ll never be able to get past… whatever _this_ is they have going on between them. Because, as much as Kevin enjoys _this_ , he would much rather be able to kiss Connor and go out on dates with Connor and call Connor his boyfriend, like normal people do. But, then again, they aren’t normal. They are renegade missionaries, freshly released from the shackles of a lifetime of religious dogma, and neither of them are entirely sure exactly what that means.

Kevin spends a moment gazing into the other man’s eyes, his drunken lizard brain contemplating whether or not he should just do what he wants to do; if he should just wrap Connor up into his arms and tell him how nobody has ever made him feel the way Connor makes him feel and how he wasn't even sure he was _capable_ of having these sorts of feelings until just a few months ago. He wants to ask Connor how he always knows what Kevin is thinking without him having to say it and why he’s so good at everything from words to dancing to making him laugh so hard it actually hurts. He wants to know why Connor is always so kind to him, even though he’s partially responsible for everything that’s happened, for everything being so royally fucked. He wants to know why Connor likes him, wants to ask him how anyone could _ever_ like him, now that he isn’t even _Elder Price_ , anymore. 

“It’s pitch black and I can still see you blushing,” Kevin says, instead, because his brain doesn’t always work right.

“I am _not_ blushing,” Connor says haughtily, though it comes out terribly unconvincing. “You’re probably just hallucinating from all that alcohol fogging up your brain.”

“You are _totally_ blushing.” Kevin leans over Connor’s body and runs a bold hand through his hair. It’s just as soft as it had been a minute ago and Kevin just wants to run his hands through it as many times as he can. And he isn’t sure why or how but the question just comes tumbling out of his mouth.

“Can I kiss you?” Kevin asks, smiling down at Connor, who seems to be at a loss for words.

“You don’t want to kiss me,” Connor says through a humorless laugh. He turns away from Kevin’s gaze, but doesn’t pull back. “You’re _Elder Price_. A drunk version of Elder Price, maybe, but still Elder Price.”

“Okay. First of all, I _do_ want to kiss you. And second of all, I may be drunk right now, but I am _not_ Elder Price,” Kevin says, feeling mildly offended. “I haven’t been for at _least_ four months. Maybe even five.”

“Really,” Connor smirks, and plucks at Kevin’s name badge. “That’s not what your _name tag_ says.”

Kevin looks down at himself. His shirt is stained from dirt and other things and he’s stopped tucking it into his pants a long time ago. He doesn’t wear a tie, anymore, and his pants have since been cut into too-long shorts. But he isn’t quite sure why he keeps on wearing the name badge. The other Elders have stopped wearing theirs months ago. He supposes it's the last vestige he has of his former self, the only thing he has left of _Elder Price_ , and he’s been having trouble parting with it. But he doesn’t want to be Elder Price anymore, and so he angrily rips it off and chucks it across the room. 

“Better?” Kevin asks, turning back down to Connor. 

“Much.” Connor smiles and snakes his hands around the back of Kevin’s neck. The touch sends a bolt of electricity down his spine and he isn’t sure how much longer he can play this game. “There’s just one last thing,” Connor says, placing a lone finger to Kevin’s lips.

“Oh, yeah?” Kevin smiles under the finger. “What’s that?”

“Your stupid, perfect hair,” Connor says and proceeds to ruffle it up. He does a thorough job of it, too, as Kevin can feel the way the strands are standing up and flopping down every which way. The happy glint in Connor’s eyes makes him smile in a way he’s never smiled at anyone before and he leans down, dangerously close to Connor’s mouth.

“There,” Connor pats Kevin's head, looking satisfied with his newly-disheveled hair, “That’s better.”

“Are we done, now?” Kevin asks and leans in closer to Connor’s lips. 

“Hmmmm…” Connor thinks on it for a moment. “As a matter of fact, there _is_ one more-” 

“Please, just shut up so I can kiss you.” 

But Connor beats him to it. He grabs Kevin and pulls him down on top of him as he falls back against the couch, their lips crashing together about halfway down. It's his second first that evening and Connor’s lips are even softer than his hair. There is a slight lingering aftertaste of that God awful Ugandan moonshine in their mouths, but it still feels just as magical and thrilling and _right_ as Kevin always knew it would.

Kissing Connor is, perhaps, even more intoxicating than the alcohol, and Kevin is fairly certain he’s just gotten himself addicted.


End file.
